Future Sex  Love Sounds
by Saucery
Summary: Steve isn't seducing Danny. Or is he?


**FUTURE SEX / LOVE SOUNDS**

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The third time Danny hears 'Sexy Eyes' on the way to HQ, he realizes that maybe it isn't a coincidence. No, it _definitely_ isn't a coincidence. That isn't the radio, anymore; it's a goddamn _CD_. The bastard went out and _bought_ the very thing Danny had expressly told him - _vehemently_ told him - never, ever to put on again. But here it is. For the third time running. In _his_ car.

"You know," Danny says, conversationally, in the mildly murderous tone that's become a habit around McGarrett, "if you play that fucking song _one more fucking time_, I'm going to start thinking you're seducing me. Fair warning."

"Seducing you?" Steve barely flicks him a glance; he's got his shades on, the vaguely see-through ones, and he probably thinks he looks like Agent 007 on a Hawaiian holiday, or something. Which he mostly _does_, but that's beside the point.

"What guy voluntarily listens to - to 'Sexy Eyes' while trapped in a confined space with another guy?"

"Are you questioning my heteronormativity?"

"I don't even want to know how many syllables that word has. Do you know how many syllables that word has?"

"Eight."

"Wonderful. You bring out the big guns even when you're _talking_, McGarrett. Size complex, much?"

"They're syllables, not inches. And you're the one that started measuring. Just saying."

"_Why... are you... still playing... that... song._"

"Wow. You just italicized a whole sentence."

"Answer my question!"

"That was a question? If it was, you punctuated it wrong."

Danny growls.

"Okay, okay, I'm sorry." A passing ray of light, sharp and golden as a butter knife, glints off of Steve's sunglasses. "It's a classic, all right? I found the CD at a gas station; thought I might as well buy it. Don't find many collections with that song on it."

Yeah, right. The last gas station on the road to _hell_. Steve must've spent hours hunting it down on Ebay. "A collection? What's it called? _Fifteen Ways to Torture Your Partner_?"

"_Fifteen Songs to Get You in the Mood._ Actually."

"_This_ gets you in the mood?" But then Danny catches up with the implications of what Steve's just said, and swoops his hand downward in a triumphant kung-fu slice. "A-ha! Gotcha! _Why_ would you want to get in the mood with _me_?"

"I'm not trying to seduce you, man. Relax. It's just your fevered imagination. And for the record, I've never had to seduce anyone."

"What, they just fall into your lap?"

Apparently, Steve still has the decency not to blatantly answer in the affirmative, but that careless shrug of his shoulders is almost as bad.

"Yeah, yeah. Sure, you've never had to seduce anyone, Mister Sexypants."

Steve _twitches_. And shoots Danny a startled look. "You think I'm sexy?"

"The freaking potted plants at the _Ritz_ think you're sexy, McGarrett. It's an objective assessment. Don't take it personally."

"So that wasn't a backhanded compliment. Or even a forehanded one."

"Stop making tennis analogies. It's un-American. Choose - football, or something."

"Okay, then, Governor Palin. That wasn't a forward pass?"

"More like a fumble," Danny mutters.

"Uh huh. Seems more in character."

Danny suppresses the suddenly _vicious_ urge to elbow Steve in the ribs. And if he hadn't had his seatbelt restraining him, he totally would've. Heck, forget _elbowing_ him, Danny wouldn't mind _vivisecting_ him.

"Are you thinking of new ways to kill me?" Steve asks, cheerfully, and he's grinning his crazy little grin, the kind Danny only ever sees when Steve's cracked a case, gotten laid or pistol-whipped a perp's head in an utterly gratuitous display of dominance. Since when has that grin applied to _Danny_? Or to situations containing Danny? Not that Danny wants to know. He's better off not knowing.

"I'm still not done with the old ones." Danny runs his hand through his hair, as much to distract himself as anything else, because his fingers are twitching toward the CD player, and he _knows_ that if he gives in to temptation and turns that agonizing song off (god, is it on _repeat_?), Steve will only reach out to turn it back on, and then Danny'll have to turn it back off again, and on and on until they devolve into a pair of brawling three-year-olds and end up breaking the 'Eject' button on the CD player.

Someone's got to be the bigger man. And it might as well be Danny. Tugs of war are exhausting and pointless; Grace taught him that. Of course, _Steve_ doesn't have the advantage of fatherhood to help make him the, heh, bigger man, so Danny can cut him some slack. For now.

Except...

"So you're a sadist, then," Danny blurts.

"What?"

"The next time you pull your Captain America routine - "

"I have a routine?"

"I'm sure you've got the tights stashed away in your garage. Somewhere."

"They're in the trunk, with my control issues. You said I had those, right?"

"Right. So _that's_ why, the next time you race in to save the day in some stupidly spectacular shootout involving way too many bullets and way too many Danny-bits, you might as well remind the people you're saving that you are, in fact, a sadist. The hero thing's just a front."

"I'm a sexy, sadistic gay superhero with control issues." Steve's voice is dry. "That's what you think of me."

"Forget about the sexy thing, already. Jesus. It was a fumble, okay? We both agreed it was a fumble."

"Where'd you get the sadism from?"

"Oh, like _deliberately playing_ the very song you know wreaks havoc on my _soul_ isn't sadism. You love torturing me, don't you?"

"I thought I was supposed to be seducing you."

"A nutcase like you? Who knows. Maybe you even think it's the same _thing_."

"Hm," says Steve, that crazy grin of his making a reappearance, and the sight of it starts a peculiar itch under Danny's skin, something between irritation and - and _irritation_, so that Danny has to harrumph and look away. "Maybe it is."

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** fin.**

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